Our holiday is coming to an end in sweetness, while all is tumult and carnage not far off. I think the regiment has had a long march.
Dear beloved Mother,—After so many graces granted me, I ought to have more confidence, and I intend to do my best to give myself wholly into the hands of God; but these are hard times. I have just heard of the death, among many others, of the friend whose bed I shared in our billet. He had just been appointed Second Lieutenant. Mother dear: Love. That is the only human feeling we may cherish now.