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                 Dec 22d 1864

My own dear girl

             once more and again, in the

silent hour of midnight, while thinking of you and

home, I take my pen and imagin that I am talking

to you as in days of yore. when loves young dream was bright

and the dew as yet glistening, on the flowers of our hopes

hopes and antisapetions that as yet have been but partcalry

realised. but let us hope that the future has yet in store

many a happy houre for us. You say my letters are

cold and business like, and no doubt as a general thing

they are. but not from want of love to you dearset, but

circumstances and time will not allow me to write

as often or as I would like to. but to night when all

is still, so still that I can almost here the Stares twinckle

and the Moon with its calm cold fase looks mildely

down, just showing itselfe in my window, and I think

that the same moon, the same Stars, are also shining

over you, and that the same North wind, which I hear

sighing through the old and Stately Elems which

surround our quarters. May have faned the cheek