Thomas Wentworth Higginson, June 1862

Worcester, June, 1862

Mrs. Howell, of Philadelphia, a most attractive woman whom I met last year, is there [Princeton] already. She wrote Milton's verses on his blindness which were included in a London edition of his works, and there is a mild, chronic, Quakerly flirtation between her and Whittier, who wrote in the April “Atlantic” a charming poem about a ride with her at Princeton last year. She is a fine-looking woman of forty-five, but the hotel scandal of last year was that she wears what are called plumpers in her cheeks to preserve the roundness of early years, and though I hold this a libel, still the overwhelming majority of last year's Princetonians believe it. Miss Betsey Sturgis, that arbiter of fashion, says plumpers are very common in Philadelphia and she doesn't doubt Mrs. H. wears them. Nature has plumped the cheerful B. S., but there is no telling what other beautifying appliances may not be purchased with Mrs. Cushing's bequest.

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 145

Diary of Captain Luman Harris Tenney: April 26, 1865

Spent the day in O. Thought of going to Wellington with Chester but he was out of town. Read most of the day. "Gotta Family" and Atlantic. Some rain.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 162

Thomas Wentworth Higginson to James T. Fields, January 1862

Dear Friend:

I send the “Letter to a Young Contributor,” which will cover nine or ten pages.

I am sorry to say that this household unites in the opinion that February is a decidedly poor number. Mrs. Howe is tedious. “To-day” grim and disagreeable, though not without power; “Love and Skates” [Theodore Winthrop] trashy and second-rate; and Bayard Taylor below plummet-sounding of decent criticism. His mediocre piece had a certain simplicity and earnestness, but this seems to me only fit for the “Ledger” in its decline. I could only raise one smile over the “Biglow” (“rod, perch, or pole”), but I suppose that will be liked. Whittier's poem is daring, but successful; Agassiz has covered the same ground often. Whipple uses “considerable” atrociously at beginning of last critical notice, and “Snow” has a direful misprint on page 195 (end of, paragraph) — South for Earth. I liked “Ease in Work,” “Fremont and Artists” in Italy.

The thing that troubled me most, though, was the absence of a strong article on the war, especially as January had none. I see men buying the “Continental” for its strong emancipatory pieces, and they are amazed that the “Atlantic” should not have got beyond Lowell's timid “Self-Possession.” For the “Atlantic” to speak only once in three months, and then against an emancipatory policy, is humiliating. Perhaps I ought to have written and offered one, but I could not write when busy about regiments and companies, and after that I supposed you had a press of war matter on hand, as no doubt you did some months ago; but public sentiment is moving fast if events are not, and it is a shame that life should come from the “Knickerbocker” and not from the “Atlantic.” You always get frank criticisms from me, at least, you know.

P.S. I see the papers treat the number well — but so they always do. At the lowest point ever reached by the magazine, just before your return from England, the newspaper praises kept regularly on.

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 112-4

Thomas Wentworth Higginson to Louisa Storrow Higginson, July 1861

You ask about the “Atlantic” — Fields will edit it, which is a great thing for the magazine; he having the promptness and business qualities which Lowell signally wanted; for instance, my piece about Theodore Parker lay nearly two months under a pile of anonymous manuscripts in his study while he was wondering that it did not arrive. Fields's taste is very good and far less crotchety than Lowell's, who strained at gnats and swallowed camels, and Fields is always casting about for good things, while Lowell is rather disposed to sit still and let them come. It was a torment to deal with Lowell and it is a real pleasure with Fields. For instance, the other day Antoinette Brown Blackwell sent me a very pleasing paper on the proper treatment of old age — called “A Plea for the Afternoon.” I sent it to Fields by express and it reached him after twelve one noon (I don't know how many hours after). At seven that night I received it again by express, with Approval and excellent suggestions as to some modifications. . . . Such promptness never was known in a magazine; it would have been weeks or months before L. would have got to it.

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 111-2

Thomas Wentworth Higginson to Louisa Storrow Higginson, July 10, 1859

July 10, 1859

Dearest Mother:

Emerson says, “To-day is a king in disguise”; and it is sometimes odd to think that these men and women of the "Atlantic Monthly," mere mortals to me, will one day be regarded as demi-gods, perhaps, and that it would seem as strange to another generation for me to have sat at the same table with Longfellow or Emerson, as it now seems that men should have sat at table with Wordsworth or with Milton. So I may as well tell you all about my inducting little Harriet Prescott into that high company.

She met me at twelve in Boston at Ticknor's and we spent a few hours seeing pictures and the aquarial gardens; the most prominent of the pictures being a sort of luncheon before our dinner; viz., Holmes and Longfellow in half length and very admirable, by Buchanan Read (I don't think any previous king in disguise ever had his portrait so well painted as this one, at any rate); also, by the same, a delicious painting of three Longfellow children — girls with their mother's eyes and Mary Greenleaf's coloring, at least three different modifications of it. . . .

In the course of these divertisements we stopped at Phillips's and Sampson's, where we encountered dear, dark, slender, simple, sensitive Whittier, trying to decide whether to "drink delight of battle with his peers" at the dinner-table, or slide shyly back to Amesbury in the next train. To introduce him to Harriet was like bringing a girl and a gazelle acquainted; each visibly wished to run away from the other; to Whittier a woman is a woman, and he was as bashful before the small authoress as if she were the greatest. Cheery John Wyman was persuading him to stay to dinner, and on my introducing him to my companion turned the battery of his good-nature upon her, pronouncing her story the most popular which had appeared in the magazine — “Oh, sir,” she whispered to me afterwards, “he spoke to me about my story — do you suppose anybody else will? I hope not.”

Duly at three we appeared at the Revere House. You are to understand that this was a special festival — prior to Mrs. Stowe's trip to Europe — and the admission of ladies was a new thing. Harriet was whirled away into some unknown dressing-room, and I found in another parlor Holmes, Lowell, Longfellow, Whipple, Edmund Quincy, Professor Stowe, Stillman the artist, Whittier (after all), Woodman, John Wyman, and Underwood. When dinner was confidentially announced, I saw a desire among the founders of the feast to do the thing handsomely toward the fair guests, and found, to my great amusement, that Mrs. Stowe and Harriet Prescott were the only ones! Nothing would have tempted my little damsel into such a position, I knew; but now she was in for it; to be handed in to dinner by the Autocrat himself, while Lowell took Mrs. Stowe I Miss Terry was at Saratoga and Mrs. Julia Howe suddenly detained; so these were alone. But how to get them downstairs — send up a servant or go ourselves? — that is, were they in a bedroom or a parlor; an obsequious attendant suddenly suggested the latter, so Lowell and I went up. In a small but superb room the authoress of “Uncle Tom” stood smoothing her ample plumage, while the junior lady hovered timidly behind. . . . Mrs. Stowe was quietly dressed in a Quakerish silk, but with a peculiar sort of artificial grape-leaf garland round her head which I could not examine more minutely; she looked very well, but I thought Harriet looked better; she had smoothed down her brown .curls, the only pretty thing about her, except a ladylike little figure, robed in the plainest imaginable black silk. . . .

Down we went: Dr. Holmes met us in the entry; each bowed lower than the other, and we all marched in together. Underwood had wished to place Edmund Quincy by Harriet, at his request, she being on Dr. Holmes's right — the Autocrat's right, think of the ordeal for a humble maiden at her first dinner party! but I told him the only chance for her to breathe was to place me there, which he did. On Dr. Holmes's left was Whittier, next, Professor Stowe, opposite me, while Mrs. S. was on Lowell's right at the other end.

By this lady's special stipulation the dinner was teetotal, which compulsory virtue caused some wry faces among the gentlemen, not used to such abstinence at “Atlantic” dinners; it was amusing to see how they nipped at the water and among the ban mots privately circulated thereupon, the best was Longfellow's proposition that Miss Prescott should send down into her Cellar for some wine, since Mrs. Stowe would not allow any abovestairs! This joke was broached early and carefully prevented from reaching the ears of either of its subjects, but I thought it capital, for you remember her racy description of wine, of which she knows about as much as she does of French novels, which I find most people suppose her to have lived upon — she having once perused “Consuelo”!

Little Dr. Holmes came down upon her instantly with her laurels. “I suppose you meet your story wherever you go,” said he, “like Madam d'Arblay" (and indeed the whole thing reminded me of her first introductions into literary society). . . . I seized the first opportunity to ask whether she and Mrs. Stowe had any conversation upstairs. “Yes,” said she meekly; “Mrs. Stowe asked me what time it was and I told her I didn't know.” There's intellectual intercourse for a young beginner! . . .

When the wife of Andrew Jackson Davis, the seer, was once asked if her husband, who was then staying at Fitzhenry Homer's, was not embarrassed by being in society superior to that in which he was trained, she replied indignantly that her husband, who was constantly in the society of the highest angels, was not likely to be overcome by Mrs. Fitzhenry Homer. And when I reflected on the entertainments which were described in “In a Cellar,” I felt no fear of Harriet's committing any solecism in manners at an “Atlantic” dinner, which she certainly did not, though a little frightened, occasionally, I could see, at the obsequiousness of the waiters and the absurd multiplicity of courses. . . .

I don't care so very much for " Atlantic " dinners — Professor Felton says they are more brilliant than London ones, but I think that Mary and I get up quite as good ones in Worcester — but Dr. Holmes is always effervescent and funny, and John Wyman is the best story-teller the world ever saw, and indeed everybody contributed something. The best thing Holmes said was in discoursing on his favorite theory of races and families. “Some families,” he said, “are constitutionally incapable of doing anything wrong; they try it as boys, but they relapse into virtue; as individuals, they attempt to do wrong, but the race is too strong for them and they end in pulpits. Look at the Wares, for instance; I don't believe that the Wares fell in Adam!”

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 106-10

Diary of Captain Luman Harris Tenney: February 7, 1865

Great snow storm. Six or eight inches. Read in Atlantic. Letter from home. No school.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 143

Diary of Captain Luman Harris Tenney: Thursday, January 19, 1865

Quiet day in hut. Out to daily duties. Read Atlantic. Coates made Capt. in Colored Regt. yesterday. Snowing.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 142

Thomas Wentworth Higginson, June 1859

Worcester, June, 1859

I got home from Pennsylvania on Friday morning. Whittier was in the same region a month before me and he said, “God might have made a more beautiful region than Chester County — but he never did.” A beautiful rolling country, luxuriant as Kansas and highly cultivated as Brookline; horses and cattle pasturing in rich clover fields; hedges of hawthorn; groves of oak, walnut, pine, and vast columnar tulip trees towering up to heaven and holding out their innumerable cups of nectar to the gods above the clouds; picturesque great houses of brick and stone, gabled and irregular, overgrown with honeysuckle and wistaria, and such a race of men and women as the “Quaker settlement” in “Uncle Tom” portrays. All farming country; no towns nearer the meeting-house than Westchester, nine miles off, and Wilmington (Delaware) twelve. Only little old taverns here and there, known through all the country as “The Red Lion,” “The Anvil,” and “The Hammer and Trowel.” Only three houses in sight from the meeting-house and twenty-five hundred vehicles collected round it on Sunday, with probably seven thousand people on the ground.

Almost all the people in the region were Quakers, and being dissatisfied with the conservative position held by that body on slavery and other matters, they have gradually come out from among them and formed a Yearly Meeting of Progressive Friends which retains little of the externals of Quakerism and all its spirit and life. The young people have abandoned the Quaker dress, as indeed they have done everywhere, but retain all the simplicity, kindness, and uprightness. So noble a people in body and mind, I never saw before. I never was in the presence of so many healthy-looking women, or so many good faces of either sex. Their mode of living is Virginian in its open-house hospitality; they say incidentally, “we happened to have thirty-five people in the house last night.” . . . I stayed at three different houses during my four days’ visit and might have stayed at thirty. I passed from house to house as through a series of triumphal arches and yet not from any merit supposed in myself, but simply because, as Conway wrote to them in a letter, “the earnest man is a king at Longwood; he finds friends and sumptuous entertainment wherever he turns. To say that they make one at home is nothing; one fears forgetfulness of all other homes.”

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

Do not imagine that these people are ignorant or recluse; they have much intercourse with people, especially with Philadelphia; the young people are well educated, and all take the “Atlantic.” One feels in cultivated society. Aunt Nancy will like to hear that Bayard Taylor originated there and is now building a house there; I saw his father's house; also that of John Agnew, where his beautiful bride lived and died. I saw John Agnew himself, a noble-looking old man, erect as an arrow. I saw the lovely Mary's daguerreotype, and her grave. They all speak well of B. T. and praise his simplicity, modesty, and love of home; I never had so pleasant an impression of him, and if you will read his spirited poem of the tulip tree you can imagine a Chester County for a background.

The little meeting-house was crowded — seven hundred or so; the rest of the Sunday crowd was collected outside and there was speaking in several places. I spoke on the steps. Other days the church held them all. There were morning and afternoon sessions, and at noon we picnicked under the trees every day. They discussed everything — Superstition, Slavery, Spiritualism, War, Marriage, Prisons, Property, etc. — each in turn, and uniting in little “testimonies” on them all, which will be printed. There were some other speakers from abroad beside myself, but none of much note. No long speeches and great latitude of remark, among the audience, commenting or rebuking in the friendliest way. “Friend, will thee speak a little louder? What thee says may be of no great importance, but we would like to judge for ourselves.” Or sometimes to the audience: “Have patience, friends, this old man (the speaker) is very conscientious.” Sometimes stray people, considerably demented, would stray in and speak; one erect old man, oddly dressed, who began and said, “My mother was a woman”: and then a long pause. It seemed a safe basis for argument. Of course, they all knew each other and called by their first names. One old oddity seemed to devote himself to keeping down the other people's excesses, and after two persons (strangers) had yielded to too much pathos in their own remarks, he mildly suggested that if the friends generally would get a good chest and each speaker henceforth lock up his emotions in it and lose the key, it would be a decided gain! There was one scene, quite pathetic, where one of the leading men announced that after great struggles he had given up tobacco — they rejoiced over him as a brand from the burning; it was most touching, the heartfelt gratitude which his wife expressed.

There was one park not far from the meeting-house which I have never seen equalled; the most English-looking place I ever saw — two avenues of superb pines and larches, leading down to a lake with other colonnades of deciduous trees at right angles. The house to which it belonged was buried in shrubs and bushes and surrounded by quaint outbuildings. At Hannah Cox's house, the most picturesque at which I stayed, there was a large wax plant in a pot, trained over much of the side of the house: this is seven years old and is taken in every fall and trained over the side of the room; and the thick leaves serve as registers of visitors' names, which have been scratched on them with a pin; some were dated 1851; I marked mine on two, lest one should fall. . . . Every time it is changed it takes five persons three hours to train it.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

I took tea one evening at the house of some singular Quaker saints . . . with a capacity for sudden outpourings of the Spirit in public meetings. ... In the old square house General Washington had been quartered and the neat old Quaker mother well remembered when the Hessian prisoners were marched through the city. The two sisters always talked together, as is usual in such cases, and when I walked them to the evening meeting, one on each arm, the eldest was telling a long story of her persecutions among the Orthodox Friends, and whenever the sister interrupted, the eldest would unhook her own arm from mine, for the purpose (as I at last discovered) of poking her sister's elbow and thus admonishing to silence. It was done so promptly and invariably that I was satisfied that it was the established habit of the family.

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 72-77

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: July 11, 1864

Was busy in the morning. Went to Q. M.'s and C. S.'s. Thought some of going to see John, but gave up the idea. Wrote home. Thede wrote too. Read some in Atlantic. Played game of "Seven Up" with Lukins.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 124

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: July 10, 1864

Took the inspected horses to Quartermaster Stone and turned them in — 79 to be receipted for by Lt. Spangler. Had a good bath. Read several articles in the Atlantic. My eyes are occasioning me considerable trouble. Have thought of home a good deal today. Many of the officers are thinking of going home when their three years' term expires. Of course it would be pleasant to go home as soon as possible, but many officers promised their men that they would remain with them. I don't know what I shall do. I could not go to Oberlin to stay and I have no desire to go elsewhere and I think for the present every man able should bear arms.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 124

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Luman Harris Tenney: February 1, 1864

Worked on the rolls. Read the papers and a little in Atlantic.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 106

Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Lucy Webb Hayes, December 14, 1862

Camp Maskell, December 14, 1862.

Dearest:— Very glad to have a good letter from you again. Very glad indeed the bag is found — glad you read the article of Dr. Holmes in the Atlantic Monthly. It is, indeed, a defense pat for your case. I knew you would like it. You must keep it. When we are old folks it will freshly remind us of a very interesting part of our war experience.

If the enchanted bag contains my spurs, and if they are both alike (which I doubt), you may send them to me when a good chance offers. The pair I now use are those worn by Lorin Andrews and given me by McCook. I don't want to lose them.

The fine weather of the past week has been very favorable for our business and we are getting on rapidly. The river is so low that a cold snap would freeze it up, and leave us “out in the cold” in a very serious way — that is, without the means of getting grub. This would compel us to leave our little log city and drive us back towards Ohio. . . .

One of our new second lieutenants — McKinley — a handsome bright, gallant boy, got back last night. He went to Ohio to recruit with the other orderly sergeants of the regiment. He tells good stories of their travels. The Thirtieth and Twelfth sergeants stopped at second-class hotels, but the Twenty-third boys “splurged.” They stopped at the American and swung by the big figure. Very proper. They are the generals of the next war.

I rode over to the Eighty-ninth. Promising boys over there. I like the cousins much. Ike Nelson is a master spirit. The others will come out all right.

Yes, darling, these partings don't grow any easier for us, but you don't regret that, I am sure. It will be all the pleasanter when it is all over. How is your health? Is all right with you? Your sake, not mine. Thanks for the Harper and Atlantic, mailed me by Stephenson. Love to all.

Conners whom we saw at Frederick is not dead. He returned safely last night. All the wounded are gathering in except the discharged. Sergeant Tyler whom we saw with his arm off at Frederick is in a bad way — others doing well. . . .

Affectionately yours, ever,

R.

P. S. — Three months ago the battle of South Mountain. We celebrated it by climbing the mountain on the other side of the river to the castle-like-looking rocks which overlook the Falls of the Kanawha. Captains Hood, Zimmerman, Canby, Lovejoy and Lieutenant Bacon were of the party. Hood and I beat the crowd to the top. Hood, the worst wounded, up first. When I saw him shot through that day I little thought I would ever see him climbing mountains again.

Mrs. Hayes.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 374-5

Diary of Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: December 12, 1862

Camp Maskell, near Gauley. — Ninth to twelfth bright, warm days; cold nights; snow scarcely melted at all on the north side of the hills. The river is low and freezes in the pools clear across. A single very severe night would close navigation on the Kanawha. Nothing will save us from this calamity but a mild winter or a freshet in the river. With this low water a cold winter will bother us exceedingly. Well, well, our camp is growing; a few nails have come to us; no sawed lumber yet.

Yesterday (11th) received a good letter from Lucy. She has read Wendell Holmes’ “Search After the Captain” in [the] December number of [the] Atlantic and thinks I must not laugh at her any more about her efforts to find me — I being at Middletown and she at Washington searching the hospitals for me.

Today got news of the capture of a brigade of our troops in Tennessee by four thousand of John Morgan's men! Either a surprise or a disgraceful thing of some sort! Also the crossing of the river at Fredericksburg after heavy cannonading.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 373-4

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: June 5, 1863

Big scuffle with Rob yesterday. Makes me somewhat sore. Played a game of chess with John. Read the Atlantic which A. B. lent me. Called on him. Rather better than for some time. Up most all day. Called at Mrs. Vickery's and got Shakespeare and some other books. Very pleasant.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 72

Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Sardis Birchard, December 5, 1862

Camp Maskell, Near Gauley Bridge, December 5,1862.

Dear Uncle: — I am enjoying myself here, looking after the new town we are building. We are putting up about a hundred log cabins, generally sixteen by twenty feet square. We are furnished with no nails, very little sawed lumber, and no tools. Somewhat over one-half the work is done, but cutting timber, splitting shakes and puncheons, and putting them together is the great business. We are on a piece of muddy bottom-land on a beautiful bend of the Kanawha, with high mountains pressing close up to us on all sides. We are on the side of the river where no enemy can come without first running over three or four other regiments, so that we have very little guard duty to do. The men are strong, healthy, and happy. I yesterday climbed the mountain just east of us, making a. journey of four miles before dinner. I walked six miles in the afternoon. The ten miles was done easily. You may judge of my health by this. Today it snows and blows. Tomorrow it will probably thaw. We shall have some trouble with the mud, but I think with proper ditching, and the use of sand, we can conquer the trouble.

Read in December Atlantic Monthly, “Hunt for the Captain,” by Holmes. It is good.

Sincerely,

R. B. Hayes.

S. BlRCHARD.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 370-1

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: April 22, 1863

Finished Fannie's letter and mailed it. Pitched quoits awhile with Charlie Fairchild. Read in an old Atlantic. “Old Age and Hundred Days in Mo.” Boys went out and got a beef from 1st Ky. Issued rations from what we had. Received some from 3rd Battalion. Stayed out doors till tattoo. Commenced raining. Wrote a letter home. Got a Cincinnati paper of the 20th.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 66

Diary of John Hay: January 27, 1864

The Atlantic arrived this morning from the North vice the Arago transferred to New Orleans, and brought my books and my whiskey.

I am happy — modifiedly, as a worm must be.

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 158.

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: Saturday January 24, 1863

Spent a portion of the afternoon at Fannie's. F. Henderson was there and we had a good time. Got home early and read in “Fantine” and visited with Ma. Read some in the February Atlantic.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 54

Diary of Sergeant Major Luman Harris Tenney: Friday January 9, 1863

Got the rations up from the post Commissary, ready for issue the 10th. Was kept quite busy. Finished “Canoe and Saddle” and read in January Atlantic.

SOURCE: Frances Andrews Tenney, War Diary Of Luman Harris Tenney, p. 53

Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes to Lucy Webb Hayes, July 6, 1862

Flat Top Mountain, July 6, 1862.

Dearest: — Sunday afternoon about 4 P. M. — hotter than ever. I have just finished reading your letter written last Sunday at Chillicothe. I am very glad you are so happily homed at Uncle Scott's. It is far better- up on that beautiful hill with such kind friends, young and old, than in a hot and dirty city. You cannot think oftener of me than I do of you and the dear ones around you; no, nor more lovingly.

I knew you would be troubled when Fremont was relieved from duty, and perhaps still more when you hear of McClellan's repulse before Richmond. These things appear to postpone the termination of the war; but are such disasters as must be looked for in such a contest. We must make up our minds that we have a heavy work, and that reverses must frequently occur.

We have no right to complain of our lot. We have a beautiful and healthy camp, with the enemy in front, strong enough to keep us busy holding our position, without much danger of losing it. It is the common opinion that if the reverse before Richmond has been serious, we shall be sent to eastern Virginia, and I may add that it is the universal wish that we may see some of the movements that are going on there.

Drs. Joe and Jim are both very well and with little to do. Our loss by sickness during the last three months is only three.

Dr. Joe and I sent early in June to your address nine hundred and fifty dollars. Did you get it? It is important we should know if it has failed to reach you. As letters miscarry sometimes, be sure to speak of it in two or three letters.

I got from Mr. Stephenson a Harper and Atlantic for July today. All reading matter is in the greatest demand. . . .

It is not of much consequence to Boggs whether he returns or not; yet he ought to be allowed to do it. If a soldier is well enough to be a nurse he can be useful with his regiment. If he can neither nurse nor march, he can get his pay or a discharge easier here than elsewhere. But we will do our best for the man.

Think of it, the Fourth was a lovely day but we sat around a fire in the evening and slept under blanket and coverlid. . . .

Good-bye, darling. Don't get downhearted about the war and our separation. It will all come right, and then how happy we shall be — happier than if we had not known this year's experience.

Affectionately ever, your

R.

Mrs. Hayes.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 297-8