My Present Fleeting Life

Corinth, Mississippi
August 2d, 1863

Dear Wife,

Your letters come through now very regularly and with reasonable dispatch. Of late they have reached me on the 5th day after they were mailed. I received a letter from you last evening — an uncommonly good one & an uncommonly long one for you. By the same mail one came from Mary. She seems to have remembered & written me at your instigation. With my usual promptness in writing I shall answer both letters today. it does not seem that I am far away when I can answer your Sunday letter on the Sunday following. The weeks continue to glide away like a swift stream, and there are few objects along the banks of my present fleeting life that make sufficient impression on my mind to get into the records of memory.

I know from the Company Books & Reports that we have been at Corinth two months but there are scarcely two other things that I remember of it. I continue to destroy your letters to avoid the possibility of their getting into other hands & this gratifies my old prejudice of wanting the noses of brother men outside of my private matters. It is needless for you to endorse on the envelopes, “To follow the Bartery” as we never go anywhere.

I am glad you did not want Boaz. He is as indispensable to my comfort as Julia is to yours. He went to La Grange [Tennessee] to see his mother last Friday & returned yesterday. I was perfectly lost without him. We are “necessary to each other” as was said of the lovers in Bulwer‘s Strange Story, and I am confident you could not have managed him. He is very sensitive and somewhat jealous. I do not allow anyone to abuse him. He keeps track of all my personal effects and puts up my clothes & sees to getting my washing done as well as bring water, pass the whiskey, tend the horse saddle and unsaddle him, clean the room, comb my hair, sweep the room, and shampoo my head. He is the most careful, thoughtful, and trusty fellow I ever saw, and I can manage him without a word. In fact, we are on [the] most intimate terms. Do you not see how self-sacrificing I was to offer to send him for you?

He was anxious to go and could not sleep well the night before the furloughed men left camp on account of my telling him he could not go this time. Julia will do best for you and I would not exchange Boaz for her for my business. As far as the expense of having Julia with you is concerned, I regard it as your own business and would advise you not to trouble yourself about the comments of relatives, nor allow them the gratification of seeing that you were troubled. It is natural enough for old people to meddle. In fact, it might be said to be their privilege. I care nothing for it except on your account and it would be much wiser for you to laugh than cry about it. It is perfectly proper so far as I can see for them to think “that you are foolish to hire help.” It is proper enough for them to say so about a friend. But what of it? You think differently and have a perfect right to pay your money for your own comfort. It is my desire, request, and positive command that you obtain help just as long as money will buy it. My Uncle Samuel furnished me money for this express purpose and if my other Uncles do not like it, they have a right to dislike it, and this is all I care for their criticisms.

I am glad to hear the particulars of our boys progress. He is now almost one year old and will in a few weeks be running about and holding conversation with his mother. I cannot realize that he is larger or different than when I left home. I shall hereafter have three children in my heart — Oudie, the little fat baby, and the little boy whose acquaintance I am to make when I reach home. You and Mrs. Stephens will not quarrel, I hope. It is “foolish” much more so in my mind than keeping a hired girl. You are both too good Christians to be at enmity. What ground is there for a quarrel? “She does not ask you to call.” You have been too long & intimately acquainted, perhaps, to make it necessary. If she intends to stop friendship, she ought to say so like an honest woman. She will never reach heaven by any other course. I think I see the truth at this distance. You are both stupid and “foolish” about it. You both think that the other means to break off the friendship — are both of the watch for breakers — and are both looking for a plank when the wreck comes, and will unselfishly each lay the blame on the other of its occurrence. Why do you not say to her what you do to me and part good enemies? Why not ask her why she does not invite you to visit her? “O, you women will not crawl!” It is is a peculiarity of the women in Geneva. They will crawl year after year in jealousy, deceit, & anger, but will not once crawl into an honest explanation or apology. Fye on such friendship! It is not friendship, or even a poor counterfeit. It is selfishness, littleness, and meanness. Now you can say that this is a lie for what I care.

5th Page.

My Darling:

I wrote Mary a lecture before dinner and you once since. How do you like it? I have nothing new to write.

Our Cavalry force that left for the vicinity of Jackson seven days ago have not returned. Some acute ears heard cannonading last evening in the direction of Purdy. Everything remains unchanged with us. [Lt. Seth M.] Laird has got a furlough & will leave as soon as the Post Master visits us. I intend to purchase me a horse. Mrs. Collender made the cape on my linen coat you sent into sleeves and I am enjoying it very much.

The weather is as changeable here as on the lake shore. I started this morning with thick vest, coat & overcoat & was cold then. At 8 a.m., the overcoat was a burden. By 10 the undercoat was useless, and now thin pants & cotton shirt are sufficient in the shade.

We continue to board with Mrs. Collender. She does not like me. I bore her about her disposition & duties towards her husband. She cannot tell when I am in earnest & it annoys her. She is like Julia Burrows. We live well — better I presume than you with all your extravagance — at a cost of $12 per month. If you wish an apology for anything I have written, just say so & I will apologize for I am your friend, — Rome